One Difference: Jackie Doesn't Go to the Water Tower
by MistyMountainHop
Summary: Jackie doesn't go to the water tower the night her friends deface it. Her absence leads to a life-shattering discovery, one she blames Hyde for.


**Disclaimer:** _That '70s Show_ copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

ONE DIFFERENCE:  
 **JACKIE DOESN'T GO TO THE WATER TOWER**

Jackie slammed open the door to Eric's basement with her right hand. Her right wrist was strong, unsprained, and would have to do the work for two people. Such was the burden of love.

"Michael?" she said, stepping inside, but the _Sesame Street_ theme song chimed in her ears. Michael still liked watching that show. He said the characters reminded him of his friends: Cookie Monster was Fez, Bird Bird was Donna, Oscar the Grouch was Hyde, but Grover—Eric—was sitting in the basement alone. _Sesame Street_ had captured his glassy-eyed gaze

She approached him and cleared her throat, but his attention remained on the TV. "Eric!" she shouted, and he jumped off the couch like a cricket.

"No one's having sex with anyone!" he said, seemingly to no one, but his shoulders drooped once he spotted her. "Oh. Hi, Jackie." He sank onto the couch again. "What're you doing here?"

"What are you doing watching _Sesame Street?_ "

"It's the only wholesome thing on TV, and—"

She raised a silencing hand. His Eric-y-ness couldn't distract her. Her boyfriend had fallen off the water tower last night. She should've been there, but she'd gone to a party instead, celebrating Julie's promotion to cheer-squad captain. "I can't believe no one called me from the hospital!"

"It was after midnight," Eric said. "Kelso was out of it, and the rest of us had to take care of him." He tilted his head, as if he were reconsidering his words. "Okay, Hyde took a nap on Kelso's hospital bed, but it's not like he'd ever call you, so..."

"Oh, whatever. It's Hyde's fault this happened in the first place." She glanced past the stairs to the bathroom door. Maybe Michael was inside. He'd called her only after lunch. Their first day of summer vacation, and he'd waited hours to tell her something this important? "Painting a pot leaf on the water tower was a dumb idea," she said, "and having Michael do touch-ups was even dumber! Why didn't any of you stop him?"

Eric ran fingers through his floppy bangs. He could've used a haircut, but styling him was Donna's job. "Jackie," he said, taking a tone she didn't appreciate, "when have any of us been able to stop him from being stupid?"

She crossed her arms over her chest. She was covering her pretty new blouse, but he didn't deserve to see it. None of her friends did. They'd all let Michael down. And by letting Michael down, they'd let her down. "Don't you care that he got hurt?"

"Of course, but the world doesn't stop spinning because Michael Kelso fell off the water tower." He sighed dramatically. "If only it did."

She dug her nails into her arms to keep from pinching him. "My boyfriend's wrist is sprained, Eric! At least tell me Hyde gave him cool sips of water in his hospital bed, like Gale Sayers did for Brian Piccolo."

He twirled his finger, indicating the basement. "This isn't the Chicago Bears. This is us. Kelso hurts himself, and Hyde laughs. That's how it works around here."

"Hyde laughed?" Her eyes narrowed, and she gritted her teeth. Michael was surrounded by animals. "Where is he?" because she would _so_ yell at Steven Hyde later. "And where is Michael?"

"Kelso's upstairs … I think. Once _Mister Rogers_ came on, everyone ran out of here. Kelso said he wanted some sympathy from my mom—" His mouth dropped open. "My mom..." He leapt to his feet and ran for the stairs. "Kelso needs to leave her alone!"

Jackie followed but kept her distance. Eric was acting weirder than usual, and she didn't want to catch whatever he had. Her boyfriend needed her healthy and sane.

"They're not here," Eric said when they reached the kitchen. "Why aren't they here?" He peered through the sliding glass door. "The driveway's empty, but maybe the garage..."

"The garage? Your mom's probably in her bedroom."

"Not the bedroom—!" His eyes took on that glassy appearance again, but he grasped her shoulders and spun her toward the swinging door. "Jackie, you have to do me this favor."

"What?" She slapped his hands off her. "What favor?"

"I need to know where my mom is, but I can't go upstairs."

"And I need to find my boyfriend." She pushed past him, intending to leave through the glass door, but he grabbed her wrist. "Let go of me, you sweaty dumbass!" She tried to shake him off. "You sprained Michael's wrist, so now you want to sprain mine, too?

"No, that's not—" He let go of her and wiped his palms on his corduroy pants. "Listen, I'll find Kelso and send him to you, but I'm really worried about my mom. I need to make sure she's not … _busy._ "

"Busy?" She cupped her forehead. How did Donna deal with him on a daily basis? "Fine. I'll go upstairs and check on your mom, but you send Michael to the basement and keep him there."

"Will do." He clasped his hands together. "Thank you, Jackie. I'll meet you in the basement."

The glass door slid open. He left for the driveway, and she went to the second floor. The door to the Formans' bedroom was closed. She knocked on it to no answer, but Eric's concerns were laughable. What could Mrs. Forman possibly be busy with? Nursing her tacky furniture to a state of classiness?

Jackie knocked on the door a second time, but Mrs. Forman was either asleep or not home. Maybe Eric had sent her here as a diversion, to let him get to Michael first and brainwash him against being angry. Because Jackie would certainly tell Michael to hold his friends accountable.

"Ooh, Michael is getting a new clique, starting today!" she whispered. Her father's upper-class colleagues had sons Michael's age. He should be hanging around with them, not Grover, Cookie Monster, and Oscar the Grouch. It would be good practice for his future as her husband.

She stomped toward the staircase, but a goofy, male laugh tickled the hairs on her nape. It came from the end of the hall, and she followed the sound to Laurie's room. A feminine giggle leaked from a crack in the door. Laurie clearly had a guy with her. Jackie didn't need to know the details, but her legs wouldn't move.

"Won't you be my neighbor?" the guy said from behind the door, and her skin prickled. She had to be hearing things, conjuring Michael's voice out of worry.

"Kelso," Laurie's voice said next, "you're such an idiot."

Jackie pressed a hand to her quickening heart. What would Michael be doing in Laurie's room? Laurie couldn't stand him. Jackie peeked inside the door, and her thoughts smashed into one another. Michael was sitting on Laurie's bed. He'd wrapped his good arm around Laurie's shoulders and was kissing her. _French_ kissing her.

"Michael!" Jackie flung open the door. "What are you doing?"

He withdrew from Laurie and hopped off the bed. "J-Jackie? Wha—no! She attacked me!"

"I don't believe you!" Jackie clutched the material of her blouse. "You're cheating on me—again!"

"Jackie, baby—" He advanced on her, but she backed away. "I just wanted Laurie to check my sling, see?" He presented his sprained wrist. "Her mom's a nurse, and I thought she could re-tie it. The knot's coming loose—"

She smacked his sling-covered arm. He cried out in pain and stumbled toward the open closet. "How long?" she said.

"Before we went to see _Star Wars_ together," Laurie said from the bed. Her powder-blue shirt didn't hide her lack of bra, and the sight clenched Jackie's fists. "But we didn't actually _see_ much of the movie. Kelso's face was in the way—you know, since he was making out with me."

"That's a lie!" Michael held his hurt wrist close to his body. "I was checking her for a sty!"

"For two hours?" Laurie said.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Damn, Laurie, the theater was dark, and the usher wouldn't give me his flashlight. God!"

Jackie had heard enough. She sped from Laurie's room, but memories of Michael kissing another blond, Pam Macy, chased her down the stairs. How could he cheat on her again? It had been only three weeks since they got back together. Weeks!

Her eyes blurred with tears as she raced out of the Formans' house. She had to get home, to talk to her parents. They'd understand. Her dad would finally buy her that Firebird, and her mom would soothe her heartbreak as only mothers could, with wise words and a manicure.

* * *

Hyde slid on his shades and headed toward his room. He patted the torn upholstery of Edna's couch, saluted the splintered bureau against the wall. Solidarity, man. The furniture here was like him, fucked-up but still standing. His dress shirt and khakis made him feel like a home inspector. He had to change out of them, into clothes more suited to his cruddy surroundings.

Halfway to his room, his shoe stepped onto something crunchy. The sensation vibrated into his foot. Unpleasant, and he shook the feeling from his body. His only pricey pair of shoes didn't shield him for shit, not the way his uncle's boots did. But the roll of Ritz Crackers he'd just partially flattened would've been dust otherwise.

The living room needed a sweep, but Edna had broken their broom smashing it onto a rat. His fingers would have to do. He picked up the Ritz-Cracker roll, and crumbs rained from it. _Crap._ The rats would eat well tonight, but so would he. The roll had two uncrushed crackers left, and he changed course to the kitchen.

A roach skittered under the baseboard in the hallway. Most of the wallpaper had peeled off or, in his less than stellar moods, had been pulled off by him. The house was a rundown, ramshackle mess. Edna had let the place go to turds the last month, not that he'd done anything about it. Every night, he imagined hearing tiny teeth scraping on wood. Termites had to be devouring the house from the inside-out.

His shoes made a sick ripping sound when he walked into the kitchen. A layer of sticky grime coated the floor, and red wine stained the counter. Edna had spilled it during last week's poker night. She was out now buying fresh supplies for her gambling buddies. Maybe she'd get them some Montilla Rum or a high-end, imported beer. Only the best for her trucker boyfriend and their buds while her kid got a roll of crushed Ritz Crackers.

He opened the fridge. Empty, except for half a stick of butter and five cans of Schlitz. He grabbed two of the cans. They'd go well with his crackers. A burger from The Hub would've been better, but his date had flaked out on him. She probably figured he didn't have a job or much dough. Not a wrong assumption, but he would've spent what he had on her.

She was classy, straight-laced—hell, the valedictorian of Point Place High's graduating class. Kelso had challenged him to ask her out. Normally, dares didn't inspire him to action, but she was the opposite of Chrissy and exactly what he needed. Miss Future Einstein could have taken his mind off his lack of future, but she must've realized he was the opposite of what she needed.

He carried his beer into the hallway and tore off a piece of wallpaper. Man, he'd put on his cleanest, nicest clothes and brushed his teeth again for nothing. His mouth tasted like peppermint, not a good flavor to combine with beer.

A flickering light met him the living room. The table lamp's bulb would go out soon, and he plunked down on the armchair. Dinner, such as it was, had to be quick. He placed one of the Ritz Crackers into his mouth, indulged a moment in its saltiness, then chewed it to pieces. He cracked open a beer, but a knock rattled the front door. The knock was heavy, frantic, and sounded unencumbered by the screen door. Had to be Edna. _Damn it._ He'd intended to bolt out of here before she got home. .

He swallowed a few gulps of beer as the knocking grew more intense. "All right, all right!" he shouted and put the beer on the floor. He strolled to the front door, unlocked it, and turned the knob slowly. "What's the matter, Edna, gamble away your keys for some—"

Standing in the doorway, with the screen door pressed against her back, was Jackie. She glared at him with red, puffy eyes. Her cheeks resembled a Jackson Pollock painting, dripping, chaotic streaks of makeup covering her skin. Either she'd just had her first circle, and it didn't go well, or she'd been crying.

His fingers stiffened on the doorknob. Her white Lincoln Continental was parked in the street. She'd driven to his neighborhood, but was she alone, or was her dad waiting in the car?

"Jackie," his knuckles began to hurt, but he didn't let go of the doorknob, "what the hell are you doing here?"

She answered in a string of shrill words. It garroted his eardrums and was totally incomprehensible.

"Slower and lower," he said, and her hand flew out and slapped him. His cheek burned, but he wouldn't rub it. Only his ma ever hit him like that, and he never showed her a reaction either. "Okay, nice seein' ya." He started to close the door, but Jackie's palms slammed it open.

"You. Ruined. My. Life!" Her voice was guttural, like she'd rip out his throat with her teeth, and he backed up. A mistake because it allowed her to enter his house. She stepped close to him, stood on her toes, and got in his face. "You destroyed everything, Steven Hyde!"

He backed off further and bumped into the TV set. This had to be about Kelso's sprained wrist. "So your boyfriend got a boo-boo," he said. "Nothing's broken—"

She tried to slap him again. He dodged and side-stepped the TV, but she grabbed his shirt and screamed something at him. Her spit landed on his chin. This chick was nuts, and he'd yielded enough ground to her.

He pried her hands off his shirt and tried to hold onto them, but one wriggled free and pinched his arm. "Shit—Jackie!" He recaptured her hand. "Jackie, would you calm the hell down? No one asked your moron boyfriend to get on the railing. It's his own damn fault he fell."

"Who cares about that?" She struggled against him, but he held onto her wrists. Her next slap could knock off his shades. Her nails, though not long, might do serious damage. "I caught them, Hyde!" she said. "I caught both of them—"

"Caught who?" He shouldn't have asked, but fresh tears spilled from her eyes, and snot ran over her mouth. She didn't give a crap how she looked, which meant she was in some kind of trouble. "Caught who doing what, man?"

"My—" She turned away from him, as much as his grip would allow. "My..." Her voice lost its snap, and she resembled a wilted version of herself. It could've been a trick, but he loosened his grasp.

"Your what?" he said. "You've already hit me in the freakin' face. Don't wuss out on me now."

She straightened up and looked him in the eye. "Michael! I caught Michael kissing Eric's sister."

A chuckle ricocheted in his stomach, but he muffled it. "And Laurie kicked him in the stones. So what?" Because Kelso had been after her since he got his first pube, and she'd always shot him down.

"No," Jackie said. "She kissed him back."

"Come on..." A smile slid over his lips, inappropriate, but the idea was too funny. "There's no way she'd let him touch her—"

She yanked her wrists from his fingers. "I saw what I saw, Hyde."

"Okay, let's say you did see 'em locking lips; how exactly is that my fault?"

"Because," she moved to the couch and sat down, "if you hadn't goaded him into—" She sprang up with a shriek. "Is that pee? Did I just sit on pee?"

"Booze. Edna gets clumsy." He turned over the wet cushion, exposing a tear in its upholstery. Stuffing blossomed from the hole. The other two cushions were decent enough, but Jackie sat in the armchair instead.

For less than a second. She jumped to her feet and said, "What did I sit on now?" Her butt had pulverized his remaining Ritz Cracker to crumbs. "Is nowhere in this house safe?"

"Nope, so why don't you get outta here before the roof collapses?" He gestured to the front door, but she didn't budge. "Look, whatever you want from me, you're not gonna get it."

She sniffled, but it didn't help the state of her face. Snot dripped off her chin, and he scanned the room for a tissue box. He'd spotted one the other day, but the rats must've scurried off with it.

A large glob fell from her nose. She caught it with her hand, and her second shriek pummeled his skull. He had to get her a paper towel, to get her _something,_ before she drowned in mucus. He jetted into the hallway without telling her to wait. She wasn't going anywhere. She'd stand in his living room until she cried an apology out of him.

He cursed Kelso's name while searching the linen closet. Jackie's unwelcome presence in his life was Kelso's doing, but Hyde couldn't kick her out in this state. At the very least, he'd have to drive her home because she'd come here alone. Her dad would've honked the Lincoln's horn by now or stormed the house.

A screech tore through the hallway. Jackie must've caught another snot-glob, and Hyde dashed to the living room. "'A gift' from our school," he said and shoved a roll of toilet paper at her. It was one-ply, but it was all he had.

She ripped off some toilet paper and blew her nose. She wiped off her fingers afterward, mashed the used toilet paper together, and said, "Where should I...?"

"Just toss it on the floor."

"Ew, no."

"Then hold onto it. Your choice."

She wrapped the snotty wad in cleaner toilet paper and stuffed it into her jeans pocket. "I never would've found them," she said, "if you hadn't pestered Michael into fixing that stupid pot leaf. He wouldn't have fallen off the water tower, and I wouldn't have found them." Her eyes squeezed out more tears. "Don't you understand? I wouldn't have fount them!"

"I didn't push him, Jackie," he said. "The railing was slippery—"

"That doesn't matter!" She smacked the Ritz Cracker crumbs off the armchair and dropped onto it. She covered her face with the roll of toilet paper. Her shoulders shook with her sobs, and he had no idea what to do. Edna would be home any minute, maybe not alone. She couldn't find him here, not with Jackie.

"Okay, so Kelso's a cheater..." He went to the armchair, and a memory of Chrissy scudded through his brain. She'd offered him a chance at a punk-rock future. He rejected it, and she motored out of town with a guy who wasn't him. "Better you find out now then a few months down the line, right?" he said over Jackie's sobs. "You two haven't been back together that long, and he is who he is."

Her crying grew louder in response. She probably needed some reassurance or some shit like that. He patted her shoulder awkwardly. "You can do better than him, man."

She glanced at him with red, wet eyes and said, "Like who?"

Like almost anyone, but the front door bounced against the wall. Edna had shoved it open with her hip. A grocery bag dangled from her arm, and she was carrying a pizza box.

"Steven, take this." She held the box out to him. He rushed over and grabbed it. "Don't you eat any," she said when he opened the box, but the smell of pepperoni woke his stomach. It was rumbling, and he sneaked out a slice.

"Jackass!" Edna shouted, but he took a large bite "Those are for—hello." Her gaze fell on Jackie. "Who's this?"

"No one." He left the pizza box on the couch and pulled Jackie from the armchair. "We were just leaving."

"Oh! I am _not_ no one." Jackie pushed herself in front of him and held out her hand. "I'm Jackie Burkhart."

Most of Hyde internally groaned, but a fraction hoped Edna gave her a hearty handshake. Jackie hadn't washed up after playing catch with her snot.

"Burkhart's kid?" Edna raised her eyebrows at him and ignored Jackie's hand. "I thought you'd stolen that fancy car out there. None of my friends could afford a Lincoln Continental." She chuckled. "None of them have the balls to hot-wire one of them, either."

"Not even 'Uncle' Trucker?" Hyde said and took another large bite of his stolen slice. "He got you that blender."

"Easy pickins, Steven." She passed her grocery bag to him. It was heavy, and glass clinked together. Had to be filled with booze. "Put that in the kitchen while I get acquainted with your girlfriend."

He swallowed the last of his pizza. Eating fast was an art he'd learned years ago. "She's not—she's just a friend, Ma."

"The kitchen, Steven. Now."

"Whatever." He hightailed it to the kitchen and dropped the grocery bag on the counter. Jackie was still alive when he returned, but she'd gotten comfortable in the armchair.

Too comfortable. She'd scrubbed most of the Jackson Pollock painting off her face. The roll of toilet paper stood on the floor, between the beers he wished he could empty. And she was jawing with Edna, who'd taken a spot on the couch next to the pizza box.

"Interesting thing, Steven," Edna said, eyeing him. Her fingers closed around a pack of cigarettes, but her mouth didn't have a stick yet. "Your friend, here, just told me she caught her boyfriend cheating on her."

"And not for the first time, either!" Jackie said. "I first caught him with another girl months ago. He promised me it was a one-time thing, and I forgave him. Then I broke up with him again after a pregnancy scare—"

Edna grinned in Hyde's direction, a smile formed by seventeen years of resentment. Her story about Bud knocking her up had to be trapped behind her lips.

"But Hyde got us back together at the prom," Jackie continued, but Hyde needed her to shut her pie hole. Why was she blabbing so much to somebody she didn't know? To his freakin' ma?

"Did he now?" Edna moved the pizza box to the floor and patted the cushion next to her. "Sit down, Steven."

"No, thanks. Jackie," he hiked his thumb at the front door. "if you come with me right now, I'll kick Kelso's ass for you."

"Steven," Edna said. She was over-using his name as an attempt to control him, but it hadn't worked since he was twelve. "Stop being rude to our guest and _sit._ "

A chill skated over his spine, kicking up the hairs on his arms. _Our_ guest? She had to be playing a game, taking a gamble. This was the most she'd spoken to him in two weeks, after he'd decided not to leave for New York. What did she think was in the pot? Screwing his reputation with Jackie? The chick already thought he was scum.

"Nothin' rude about standing in my own damn house." He leaned against the dressing screen. It was folded between the splintered bureau and a squat bookcase, and his position gave him a view of both Edna and Jackie.

"It's not your house; it's _my_ house." Edna stuck a cigarette in her mouth. She lit it with her lighter and took a drag. "My paychecks keep the lights on and put food in your mouth. Everything you have is thanks to me, including _this._ "

She tossed her pack of cigarettes at him. He caught it and threw it back to her. He wouldn't smoke in front of Jackie. He barely smoked in front of his friends—cigarettes. Joints were another thing, but the tobacco industry had him under its addictive, chemical-laden thumb. Every time he bought a pack, he strengthened corporate control over the country. Every time he lit a cigarette, he hated himself a little bit more.

"You don't have to be shy in front of your little friend." Edna plucked a stick from the pack. "I'm sure she knows all about your habits." She extended the cigarette toward him. His fingers itched to take it, but he wouldn't make the pot richer. Edna could play this game all by herself.

"I'm quitting," he said.

"Suit yourself." She offered the cigarette to Jackie. "How about you, sweetie?"

"I _should_ pick up smoking after what I've seen today," Jackie said. "Does it help?"

Edna blew smoke from her lips. "Help what?"

"To smoke when the people you love the most betray you? Does it make you feel any better?"

"Nah." Edna slipped the rejected cigarette into the pack. "You know what does, though? A good f—"

Hyde faked a coughing fit. He couldn't let Edna finish that sentence.

"Steven, are you okay?" The question came from Jackie, and she'd called him _Steven,_ not Hyde.

"Fine," he said. "Jackie, let's get outta here, okay? I'll take ya wherever you want." Edna's poker buddies were due in less than ten minutes. Some of them wouldn't give a crap that Jackie was underage. They'd hit on her—maybe touch her—and that wasn't happening on his watch.

"You can go if you want." Jackie's focus return to Edna. "What did you do when Mr. Hyde left you? _Why_ did he leave you? Was it the booze you're always drinking?"

"Holy hell—" He shut his eyes, and when they opened, Edna was grinning that dangerous, resentful grin.

"Mr. Hyde is the alcoholic," Edna said. "I just enjoy a drink or two—"

" _Dozen,_ " Hyde said.

Edna swatted her hand at his interruption. "Mr. Hyde left me for Miss Tight-Ass, his secretary."

Jackie gasped. "So he cheated on you!"

"Oh, yeah. He left me to raise this one," Edna jabbed her cigarette toward him, "all by myself. Being his mother was hard enough when his father was around. Without him … well, I'm sure you noticed how lazy Steven is." She flicked cigarette ash onto the floor. "It's a motivation problem, really. He has no ambition besides getting wasted or stoned. Does he help out around here? Of course not. Never has. He's a carbon copy of his father."

Jackie nodded, as if she understood, but Hyde's stomach was folding in on itself. The conversation had crashed into the manure pile he carried on his back. Pulverized turds fell onto his skin, but as long as Jackie insisted on staying put, he had to endure the smell and smears of shit.

"Why do men cheat?" she said. "I mean, why aren't the women they commit to enough for them?"

"Some of them are just weak." Edna sucked in an extra-long drag. Smoke leaked from her nostrils, and she coughed before speaking again. "Their egos are fragile, and they need shinier and shinier objects to chase."

She kicked her legs up onto the couch and lay back. All she needed was a bottle of Smirnoff, and Jackie would get the full _Edna experience._

"But why?" Jackie twisted the hem of her blouse. "Is it in their DNA? Is it how they're raised?"

"Without women, men wouldn't exist," Edna said, launching into one of her favorite rants. Hyde had heard it countless times, usually when she was drunk. "Deep down, they know this. They feel like powerless little boys whose strongest drive is to suck on Mommy's teat forever. So they try to regain their power by cheating on us and suppressing us." She waved her cigarette in the air. "Why do you think society is the way it is? It's all—"

Hyde's laughter silenced her. It was throaty and bitter, fueled by seventeen years of Edna's "wisdom". He'd learned how to get some amusement out of it, but Jackie seemed to soak in every drop. It had to stop.

"Jackie," he said once his laughter faded, "why aren't you talking this out with your own parents?" His back pressed harder against the dressing screen. Pain bit into his spine, but it kept him from throwing Jackie over his shoulder and escaping with her. "They've got a decent marriage, so they're the ones you should be gettin' advice from."

Jackie's cheeks flushed. She lifted her feet onto the armchair and buried her face in her knees. _Shit._ He'd set her off, but how? He hadn't burned her, just made a reasonable suggestion.

"Good job, Steven," Edna said. "You made her cry." She stubbed her cigarette on the hardwood floor and stood up. "Jackie, honey, can I get you anything to drink?"

Jackie's face rose briefly from her knees. "A Tab?"

"You're in luck. I bought a six-pack of Tab for Dizzy. She won't miss one." Edna disappeared into the hallway. Dizzy was one of her poker buddies, a skeletal loudmouth who enjoyed goosing Hyde every chance she got.

And this was his chance to get Jackie out of here. She was still sobbing, and he knelt in front of her. "Jackie, it's gonna be all right." He reached toward her head. Her hair covered her face and knees, and he brushed some of it behind her ear. "Everything's gonna be fine, okay?"

She whipped up her head. "How can you say that? My world's falling apart!" Her eyes seemed to ask the same question, and he tried to give her silent reassurance. His gaze stayed on her face, but looking at her added to the ache in his stomach. Her tears had created a fresh Jackson Pollock painting on her skin, though this one was subtle. Not much makeup remained.

"Not all guys are assholes," he said. "Plenty of us can keep it in our pants, and you'll find somebody great, man. Somebody who'll want only you." He opened his arms to her, offering a consoling hug. It was camouflage, concealing his escape plan.

"I won't!" she said, thrusting herself at him. Her arms clamped around his waist, and her wet, snotty face pushed into his neck. "All men are cheaters. Every single one!"

"That's the spirit!" The encouragement came from Edna, and he flicked his eyes toward her. She was standing in the hallway. A glass of Tab—and whatever else she'd put in it—was in her hand, and she gestured at him with it. "Jackie, you shouldn't trust this one. He'll never be faithful. He's too much like his father."

Hyde's arms tightened around Jackie, and he stood up with her. Pressure had built inside him, along with adrenaline, and he maneuvered her over his shoulder. She screamed at him to let her go; her fists pounded into his back, but he charged toward the front door.

"What, you're gonna leave?" Edna said. "Well, one of these days, I'm gonna leave _you,_ and you'll know how it—"

Hyde slammed the door behind him. The sky was oranging, darkening, and a cool breeze ruffled his shirt as he carried Jackie down the porch steps. Her car was a few steps away, and he slid his hand over her hip. If he didn't find the keys on her, he'd have to break into the Lincoln and hot-wire it.

"Stop. Stop it!" Her protestations stomped on his chest. She had a right to be pissed. Molesting her wasn't his intent, but he rummaged in her jeans pockets until he found the keys. They were buried in the left one, and he opened the car door with them.

"I'm not done talking to your mom!" she said when he dropped her into the passenger seat. He strapped her in with the seat belt. Her fingers went to unbuckle it, but he blocked them. "Hyde, enough! You can't treat me like this."

"Jackie, it's not safe in there, man. That Tab she brought you was probably laced with vodka."

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do. What do you think she was up to? She knows you're loaded, and she wanted to get you loaded with booze so she could con you. How much dough are you carrying?"

Her gaze shot to the car's center console. Her purse was lying on top of it. "Fifty dollars."

"It's her poker night, man. She would've gotten you to stay, and you would've kissed that dough goodbye. Now, are you gonna let me drive you home or not?"

"Are you sober? I saw those beers—"

"I had three sips twenty minutes ago. I can drive."

"Fine." She quit trying to unbuckle her seat belt. "But don't take me home."

Hyde shut the passenger-side door. He got his butt into the driver's seat, but a question flicked at his skull. Getting more involved in Jackie's business was a bad idea, but as he drove aimlessly around Point Place, the question punched into his brain: why didn't she want to go home?

"So alls you did was catch Kelso kissing Laurie?" he said, turning onto Birch Road. He sped by the Piggly Wiggly, where Edna should've spent her last paycheck. "What'd you—"

A station wagon pulled out of the supermarket's parking lot. It was a Volvo and moving slowly enough to be dangerous. Hyde honked at it but got no response. He checked the rearview mirror. An AMC Gremlin was driving behind him, but not tailgating, and Hyde pressed on the breaks. Tires screeched on the pavement, not just the Lincoln's but the Gremlin's, too. With the Volvo's road-hogging move, it had blocked all traffic passing the Piggly Wiggly.

Jackie rolled down her window and stuck her head out of it. "You idiot!" she shouted. "Are you trying to get us killed? There are other people on the street besides you!"

Hyde tapped her arm. She stopped yelling at the Volvo and scowled at him. "What?"

"Did you run home after catching Kelso?" he said.

"Yes."

"And?"

She stared at the Volvo through the windshield. "That grandma's finally moving. Let's go."

The Volvo had situated itself properly on the street. It put some speed in its wheels, but Hyde drove past it. His driving was no longer aimless. Their destination had to get him an answer, and Jackie's eyes widened when they arrived fifteen minutes later.

"Why did you take me here?" she said.

"This is where it all started, according to you."

She stepped out of the car. He did the same and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with her. The water tower loomed over them and rose above the surrounding trees. The pot leaf he and his friends had painted was a drippy mess, tinted orange by the setting sun.

"That's what Michael sprained his wrist over?" she said.

"Yup."

"It looks like it's giving us the finger."

"That's why I told Kelso to fix it, but I never told him to get on the freakin' railing. That was all his idea." He scratched the nape of his neck. He'd also never told Kelso to get off the railing. His main concern had been the pot leaf. "Maybe if..." He angled his head, but looking at the leaf from below didn't improve it. "Yeah, there's no fixing that." He and his friends would have to start from scratch, paint over it and stay the hell off the railing.

"He's so dumb! And I'm even dumber for believing in him." Jackie's shoulders slumped; he felt their drop against his arm. "True love … it doesn't really exist, does it?"

She tapped on his knuckles when he didn't answer, and he turned toward her. "You're asking the wrong guy."

"Do you think your parents ever loved each other?"

"Got no clue."

"I thought my parents did." Her lips pressed together, and her mouth twitched, as if she were biting her cheek. She dabbed the corner of her eyes. The wetness on her fingertips had an orange tinge to them, thanks to the sunset. "But my dad, when I got home … he wasn't alone. And he wasn't with my mom."

Wind swept through the trees, shaking their leaves, and Hyde blew out a breath. "That sucks," he said, but it more than sucked. He'd finally gotten his answer. Kelso had stabbed her. She crawled home for help, and her dad shot her. Now she was bleeding out.

"He didn't expect me home," she went on. "I was supposed to be with Michael—and my mom? I don't even know where she is. H-he must've sent her off somewhere with his credit card."

She cupped her forehead and swayed on her feet. He grasped her arm to steady her. "Jackie, you gotta breathe, man."

"Wh-what am I supposed to do?" She was hyperventilating, and he kept a grip on her. "If I keep it to m-myself, every second of my life will be a lie. If I t-tell my mom what I saw, my parents will divorce. I'll get twice the presents, b-but who will I live with? I barely see my dad as it is. N-now I'll never see him."

She clutched her hair and screamed, "Oh, my God!" into the sky. He released her but didn't back away. The full weight of the truth was pressing down on her, cracking her reality like an eggshell. He knew this because it had happened to him, seven years, four months, and two days ago.

"Jackie, hey..." He drew her into his body before her sanity spilled out. His arms enveloped her like a force field, and his mouth whispered by her ear, "You've got a place to go, man. The Formans. They'll help you … and if true love fuckin' exists, you'll find it there."

She turned into a collection of whimpers and sniffles. The sound tightened his arms around her. He struggled to stay quiet, but he couldn't quit talking. "Just 'cause you chose wrong the first time doesn't mean you'll do it again. Forman's a good guy, right? He'd never cheat on Donna—partly 'cause he knows she'd castrate him. But mostly 'cause that's not who he is."

"Why is Michael like that?" she said moistly, and her knotted hands pushed into his spine. "Why is my dad?"

"Can't speak for your dad, but Kelso just doesn't think, man. Not about consequences. Not about other people. He's selfish."

"Yes, he is—and so's my dad." Another bout of crying followed, but she eventually calmed enough to withdraw from him and said, "I used to think you were selfish, too." She pulled the clump of toilet paper from her pocket. It was the only tissue available, and she wiped her eyes with it, blew her nose. "But you're not what I thought at all. Nothing is."

He cleaned off his damp neck with his shirt sleeve. "Some things are, but you'll figure it out when the dust falls."

"How long—" Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat. "How long did it take for the dust to fall for you?"

He stole a glimpse of the setting sun. It was a wound sitting on the horizon, bleeding orange into the sky. "It's still falling."

She slapped her legs. "Great! So I'm gonna feel like this forever."

"Not forever, and not every day. That's what your friends are for."

"My friends won't care." She dug her right shoe into the dirt. "They'll gossip and ask me what guilt-gifts my parents bought me, but they won't care.."

"Donna'll care," he said. "Fez'll care, maybe too much. He might try to shove his tongue down your throat _while_ he's caring, so watch out for that." He adjusted his shades, making sure they were still on his face. "And, you know, you could talk to me … as long as I don't gotta listen."

"But you're listening to me now."

"See, you only _think_ I'm listening. I'm not, but I'm really good at pretending."

She giggled. It was faint, but she was definitely laughing. A relieved smile seized his lips, but he got control of it. He'd showed her too much of himself already.

"Take me to the Formans'?" she said.

"You got it."

He guided her to the Lincoln. She sat in the passenger seat but grabbed his wrist before he could close the door. "You're so polite."

He tried to muster a belch but failed. "You're imagining things."

"No, you listen to your mom too much. You pretend not to, but you do." She let go of him, but her warmth remained on his skin. "You shouldn't believe a word she says about you. She's wrong—and I'm not imagining things. I'm done dreaming."

Her declarations tangled in his ribs. His heartbeat throbbed in his fingertips and heated his neck. What did she see in him? _Who_ did she see? Somebody better than he was, but as he drove them to the Formans', his blood circulated a silent promise: he'd watch over her while the dust of her life settled. She deserved somebody guarding her back, and he'd report to duty every damn day until she could dream safely again.


End file.
